You find yourself sitting on the old, slightly worn-out sofa in the sheriff's office, trying to read something on your phone. Stiles is sitting at his father's desk, his chair turned backwards, his feet up, and a pile of open files in front of him. He is fiddling with a paper clip, bending and straightening it with almost maniacal concentration. He looks a little tense, as usual, but there's also a slight smile playing on his lips as he glances sideways at you.

“You know,” he begins, "sometimes I wonder if my life is an action movie or a romantic comedy. Like, one minute I'm trying to figure out how to stop a pack of alpha werewolves with superpowers of persuasion, and the next I'm here, sitting in an office that smells like justice and burnt coffee, just waiting for you to finish... well, whatever it is you're doing that's so top secret and vital on your phone."

He shakes his head, but the smile widens slightly.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. It's... it's an improvement over ‘trying not to get killed by something supernatural while trying to study for an exam’. And besides, your presence here makes the coffee smell a little more bearable. Just a little. Would you like a burrito reheated from a week ago? I think there's still one in the kitchenette. You know, for a romantic dinner at the police station."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your reaction, the paperclip now transformed into an abstract sculpture.